


(Day 7) Minding

by mydwynter



Series: January Sherlock Vignette Challenge [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, January Sherlock Vignette Challenge, Kid Fic, M/M, Mycroft is a kinky bastard, adventures in babysitting, humiliation play, parenting is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydwynter/pseuds/mydwynter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Lestrade whispers into Mycroft's ear. "You're going to wake Jack."</i>
</p><p>It's too bad Lestrade is so much cheaper than hiring a real babysitter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Day 7) Minding

**Author's Note:**

> My mind rebels in stagnation. So every day for the month of January I'm posting a Sherlock vignette, born out of prompts from generators and friends alike, little pieces written quickly and posted, sketches made from words.
> 
> Today's prompt from [Moonblossom's Sherlock prompt generator:](http://moonblossom.net/prompter/) Mycroft, Lestrade, kidfic, 221B, "take the money and run"

"Shhh."

"Gregory, I am…nnngh…trying."

Lestrade whispers into Mycroft's ear. "You're going to wake Jack."

"Ohhhhh…Then do take your hand out of my shorts. I'm not even supposed to be here right now."

"No. I missed you too much."

Mycroft shoves back against Lestrade's front, wedging him further into the sofa cushions, and raises the hand of Lestrade’s that's not currently wrapped about his cock. He cradles it in both his hands and kisses it. "I've missed you too. I'm sorry the trip took so very long." Then he shivers as Lestrade uses the slight roughness of his fingers to remarkably good effect in such a small space.

"If you concentrated, you might come quicker."

"I don't want to soil these trousers, my love."

"Then what am I doing this for?"

Mycroft kisses Lestrade's free hand once more. "I enjoy having you touch me. Particularly when it's been two very long weeks since I last saw you."

Lestrade giggles even as he rolls his hips and presses his hardness against Mycroft's arse. "Risky behaviour for such little reward. You don't want to scar the child if he wakes with a nightmare and comes in here. You'll just give him more nightmares."

"Gregory, you’ve seen how my brother and John are when they're together; don't you think their seven-year-old has probably already become curious, and been told more than is probably wise?"

Still giggling, Lestrade wriggles against Mycroft with a voiceless groan. "They're hardly going to full-out _lie_ to him."

"I'm still not convinced the truth is the best option for one so young." 

"I don’t think that someone being honest with their child counts as significant harm. He knows what they do for a living, and any day now he's going to ask if either of them has killed someone. I think that's more of a…moral tightrope than knowing the truth about sex. Besides, that child was _born_ forty."

"I suppose you're right. I'm just… I'm afraid that for most of our adult lives, neither my brother nor I ever envisioned being responsible for a child's upbringing. These are questions I've never considered. When it comes to judgement, I'm more than a little at sea." Lestrade slides his hand further south to palm Mycroft's testicles and stroke his perineum with his fingertips, and Mycroft's jaw clenches tight.

"I don't think any of us are really prepared, even if we _had_ envisioned it."

For a minute, the room is filled only with the sound of their stifled noises and the rasp of clothing. In spite of his wish not to come, Mycroft closes his eyes and lets himself fully enjoy the clandestine dangerousness of their situation. He gasps when a bolt of arousal shoots through him. 

"Mmmm. There you are," Lestrade growls, stroking Mycroft more vigorously. "You're enjoying this now, aren't you?" He grinds against his lover. "I think you _do_ want to 'soil these trousers'. I think you're desperate for it. You want the humiliation of everyone knowing I've made you come in your pants like a teenager. How ashamed of yourself you'll be. Everyone will _know_ …"

Just then, the draught in the air changes enough to move the curtains and there is the distant sound of the front door closing.

" _Fuck_ ," Lestrade curses, and yanks his hand out of Mycroft's trousers. Mycroft recoils off the sofa to refasten them in a trice then sits back down, arranging his suit jacket over his lap. He shifts uncomfortably just as Sherlock and John clatter up the stairs, Lestrade sitting cross-legged at his side taking a long drink from his bottle of ale.

John sweeps into the room, looking only mildly surprised to see Mycroft as he goes to hang up his scarf and coat. "Oh, you're back."

Sherlock, however, stops dead when he enters the room and peers narrowly at the two of them. "Oh for christ's sake."

Lestrade tries to give him a look of wide-eyed guilelessness. "What?" But Mycroft can't make eye contact with any of them, bright spots of pink blooming on his cheeks.

John turns and really looks at the two of them. He rolls his eyes. "You couldn't wait until you got home?"

"What? We were just—" Lestrade tries, but his protest dies in the face of John's disbelief.

Crossing his arms, John's eyebrows raise high in his face. His head cants to the side, and he pushes his lips out. "You were what?"

Lestrade's eyes flick sideways and catch Mycroft's, then look up at his hair. He stifles a smirk, and Mycroft tries to smooth it back in place. "Nothing. We were nothing."

"Next time we ask you to mind our son, please do us the favour of not traumatising him," Sherlock says, unamused and hanging up his coat.

"He didn't see anything," Lestrade protests.

"He's not an idiot. If he'd come out here—"

John cuts in. "Sherlock, let it be. Lestrade, take your bribe and go home. Mycroft looks like he's suffering over there."

Sherlock glances at his brother and pulls a disgusted face. "Oh Mycroft. Must you?"

They're chivvied out the door, Lestrade cradling the remains of the beer against his chest, Mycroft dangling his jacket in front of him and blushing monstrously. The door to the flat shuts and locks behind them as they descend.

Lestrade stops Mycroft just before he opens the front door. He leans over and rumbles into his ear, "They nearly caught you. And then they know it. I bet you're so turned on right now you can barely see straight."

Mycroft sways and lets his face fall, eyes closed, mouth just barely open. He puts his hand on the doorframe for stability, then blows out a steadying breath. "Gregory," he warns.

"Come on," Lestrade says, a smirk in his voice. "You owe me two weeks worth of sex. We can get started in your car, if you like. Just don't let the driver hear."

Mycroft tilts his head slightly to take in Lestrade, head to toe and back. His cheeks are still flushed with embarrassment and arousal, and his hair is mussed, but a gentle, fond smile tinges his expression. "You…are _perfect_ ," he murmurs, and they walk out into the night.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ Day Seven ] Spoilt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/630112) by [MacBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacBean/pseuds/MacBean)




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